Three Hours
by Mondhase
Summary: "Talbot. And you didn't give him our location?" - "Don't get me wrong. I thought about it. He put a four-man detail on me. Took three hours to shake them." - Three hours in which Hunter is out on his own, the loss of his friends, his own guilt and a massive concussion to boot weighing down on him. Missing scene for episode 2x02 "Heavy Is the Head". Re-up with some edits.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This is a story I have been meaning to write for ages and since none of my other works are very cooperative right now, I've finally decided to sit down and get it out of my system.

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 **Three Hours – Chapter 1**

At least they had given him a car, Hunter mused as his fingers traced over the smooth steering wheel in front of him. Sure, it probably came with a tracker embedded and he was going to ditch it at the next opportunity, but considering the alternative, that Talbot's men could have dropped him in the middle of nowhere again, only without a helicopter picking him up this time, he actually appreciated the fact that they had provided him with a car to return to the SHIELD base.

Aside from the tracker, there was also of course the four-man detail that had been trying to tail him without arousing his suspicion ever since Talbot had sent him on his way – and was failing miserably at it. They were back in the city by now, but even in the accompanying traffic, Hunter had no trouble spotting his pursuers.

He briefly checked the rear view mirror to confirm that the grey sedan three cars behind him was still there, and was quickly greeted by the now all too familiar sight of a black pair of sunglasses beneath a sharp buzz cut in the driver's seat. The mercenary scoffed at the idea that Talbot seemed to be serving as a role model for his men when it came to fashion choices, despite how unfavourable this look was for undercover work.

Even without their lack of inconspicuousness, Hunter wasn't too worried about his shadows. He had played this game far too many times already to be bothered by a tail – or four – and he knew that it was only a matter of time and patience before he would be able to shake every last one of them. Not that that would do him much good, though, if he didn't get rid of this car first and the tracker in it that had to be broadcasting each of his movements right now.

Hunter sighed and rubbed the back of his neck out of habit, but winced as he brushed against the cut at his hairline that he had suffered during the crash earlier. The pain was sharp and abrupt, but ultimately it was nothing compared to the constant pounding in this head that was plaguing him ever since the accident.

' _Accident'_ , _yeah, right…_

Hunter groaned as he pressed the palm of his hand against his temple, trying to stifle at least some of the pain, but to no avail. He knew he probably had a massive concussion, but as there was nothing he could do about that right now, he chose to focus on his task ahead instead: Find a new mode of transportation.

"I suggest you pick one with an air conditioning this time. The military really gets cheaper every year," a female voice beside him suddenly complained, causing Hunter to completely lose sight of the road ahead of him and swerve dangerously in his lane. With a slack-jawed expression, he stared at the dark haired woman sitting in the passenger seat next to him, unable to think straight, let alone say anything.

 _Yep, definitely a concussion…_

It took him a long moment, until he managed to regain at least some of his composure, even though shock and confusion were still written all over his features.

"Izzy…" he choked out, his headache intensifying as his mind was scrambling to make sense of the situation. His friend was looking exactly the same as the mercenary had last seen her, minus the fact that both of her arms were in perfect condition and she appeared to be very much alive.

" _Hunter_ ," the agent replied in a mocking tone, a sly grin on her lips.

"But… But you're—"

" _Dead_? Yeah, I heard," Izzy replied casually, a good-natured sparkle in her eyes. "Kind of sucks, doesn't it? Let me tell you, if I ever meet Idaho in whatever comes next, I'm seriously going to have to kick his ass for that driving. I mean, just keep your eyes on the road, it's not that hard, really," she pointed out, prompting Hunter to glance at the street ahead of him once more, to make sure he didn't repeat his friend's mistake.

For a second, Izzy's lips had hardened into a thin line, a deep frown creasing her eyebrows, but then her expression quickly mellowed, leaving nothing but slight annoyance. In the end she shook her head, conceding. "I didn't want to die, Hunter, but what's done is done. I guess I might as well move on now, you know?"

The mercenary glanced around the inside of the car for a second, before looking back at Hartley, one eyebrow cocked slightly.

"So _this_ is you moving on?" he asked sceptically, still uncertain about whether he was losing his mind right now or not.

"No, I don't think so," Izzy chuckled while she regarded Hunter with a fond expression. "This is either me haunting your lazy ass for a while, just because I can, or you hallucinating after having your head bashed around the inside of a tumbling car. But really, take your pick, either option works for me," she pointed out with a carefree grin spreading on her lips.

Hunter sighed once more and pinched the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes for a moment, his other hand maintaining only a loose hold on the steering wheel. The pain in his head had already been bad enough before, but now after Izzy's appearance it seemed to have become even worse. Although, a part of him was glad that it had at least been distracting him from the hollow ache in his chest that he knew had nothing to do with any physical injury.

Hunter took a few deep breaths, his eyes squeezed shut tightly as he was trying to fight off the wave of nausea that now accompanied the pounding in his head. He couldn't help slumping down in the driver's seat, though, just before Izzy's voice called him back to attention.

"Hey, eyes on the road, soldier!" she ordered harshly, but also with a strong underlying tone of concern. This finally got Hunter to focus on the street ahead of him again, just as he had been about to drift out of his lane.

"Bloody hell!" the mercenary pressed out in shock, his words being drowned out by the angry sound of a horn blaring at him from the oncoming car he had just barely avoided hitting.

Hunter's fingers tightened into a vice-like grip on the steering wheel as he took a rattled breath, trying to compose himself. He knew it was about high time to get off the road and so his eyes started scanning his surroundings, looking for a nearby place that would also give him the opportunity to find a new vehicle, once he had had a moment to recover.

The mercenary was well aware that here in the city, the risk of prying eyes couldn't be avoided completely, and yet he was relieved to find a half empty parking lot only a little further down the road, that he immediately headed towards. The restaurant it belonged to seemed to have seen better days, but the lack of passing by customers only agreed with Hunter's desire for a moment of peace to calm both his nerves and his resounding headache.

After he had turned off the engine, he sat in silence for a while, unmoving, painfully aware of Izzy's gaze resting on him. He knew of course that she wasn't really there, that his messed up brain, combined with the trauma of losing her, was causing him to imagine her sitting next to him, but that wasn't diminishing the sting he felt in his heart every time he looked at her.

"I'm sorry, Izzy," he finally began, only for her to interrupt him immediately.

"For what, Hunter? For trying to save my life?" The agent didn't give him a chance to answer, however, as she continued in a stern voice. "You did what you could. You even had the guts to cut off my arm, for heaven's sake, and if this absorbing guy hadn't crashed our car, I probably would have made it. Thanks to _you_ ," she emphasised. She had turned in her seat by now, one arm resting on the dashboard, and was staring at the mercenary with the same intensity he had seen in Izzy's eyes countless times before.

"Yeah, but you didn't, because we were out here alone, _thanks to me_ ," Hunter objected, his voice filled with guilt and regret. "Maybe the others were right and we should have stayed with the team. Maybe then you'd still be—"

"' _Maybe_ ' doesn't mean shit, Hunter!" Hartley suddenly burst out, causing the mercenary to fully turn his head towards her. "We weren't prepared to take on Creel – I should know, I was there – and everything either of us did on that mission was us trying to do the right thing while under extreme pressure. Hell, looking back, I probably shouldn't have grabbed that damn 0-8-4, but it's not like you forced me to leave afterwards. I mean, _please_ , as if you could have." The dark haired woman scoffed and rolled her eyes at the mere idea of Hunter forcing her to do anything.

Then Hartley became quiet for a long moment, her eyes studying the Brit, and her tone was much more subdued as she finally spoke again.

"If I had thought staying with the team was best, I would have told Agent May to kick your ass back in line, but I didn't. I was scared, Hunter, probably even more than you," she let out a soft chuckle at this, "and getting out of there to find a doctor didn't sound like the worst of plans. I mean, it's not like you dragged me out of there by my hands and—"

Hartley broke off at this and looked down at her left arm, which was suddenly in the same condition as it had been in her final moments – cut off right above the elbow.

"Oops, sorry, bad choice of words, I suppose." The agent actually managed a lopsided grin at this point, but for Hunter, seeing what he had done to his friend earlier, ultimately completely in vain, was the final straw. It allowed the pain and nausea he had been trying to suppress for a while now to completely take over.

He realised he had to get out of the car, _now_ , and after struggling with the seat belt for several frustrating seconds, Hunter bolted out of the door. He only made it a few steps, however, before he stopped, swaying dangerously, and bent over to start hurling.

Once he was done throwing up the remains of his breakfast, Hunter wiped the back of his hand across his lips, doing his best to ignore both the bitter taste in his mouth and his sudden light-headedness. He threw a glance back at the car at this point, and realised with a confusing mixture of relief and disappointment that the passenger seat was empty now, Isabelle Hartley nowhere to be seen.

The mercenary let out a deep breath, but just as he was about to force himself to move forward again, another familiar voice held him back; a male one this time.

"Feeling better now?"

 _Idaho._

 **To be continued…**

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 **A/N:** I know Hunter's injury here is significantly worse than what was displayed in the actual episode, but I figured that if his concussion was bad enough to let him see dead people, it would also be a lot more painful than what we've originally seen. I hope you don't mind the departure from the show at this point, as I felt it was necessary.


	2. Chapter 2

**Three Hours – Chapter 2**

"Feeling better now?"

Hunter froze in his movements as he recognised the voice of yet another one of his dead friends.

 _Idaho_.

This day was beginning to feel more and more like a bad joke to the British mercenary. Even though a part of him actually feared for his grasp on reality in light of these hallucinations – for lack of a better explanation – he mostly just felt exasperated that he couldn't seem to get rid of them. A feeling that was written all over his features when he finally turned around to face this latest apparition.

" _Really_ , is this the bloody 'Sixth Sense' now or what?" he asked incredulously as he saw Idaho standing behind him, the man's brow creased with concern while he averted his gave from Hunter's. To the Brit's relief, the pain in his head had subsided somewhat by now and even the nausea was back to a more tolerable level, now that there was nothing left in his stomach.

The deceased mercenary shrugged, glancing at Hunter's appearance in the process.

"Beats me, man, but by the looks of it, it wouldn't have taken much more and you'd not just be seeing dead people, you'd be one yourself."

Hunter followed his friend's line of sight and looked down at the formerly white shirt he was wearing that was now stained with blood over and over. Lots of it was his; some of it, though…

"Hunter, I'm… I'm really sorry about this mess."

Idaho's voice, although barely above a whisper this time, pulled him back to attention. Hunter focused on the other mercenary on more, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Why? Because Creel crashed our bloody car, and killed you and Izzy?" He shuddered at the words, the process of admitting out loud what had happened somehow making it real to him – more real even than these unexpected visits he was suddenly receiving thanks to a couple of hits against the head.

Idaho sighed, his expression darkening as he replied.

"No, for having been the asshole at the wheel, who didn't manage to avoid him in time. If I'd been more concentrated—" but he broke off as Hunter suddenly turned away from him.

The mercenary headed away from his dead friend, also leaving behind the car he had come here in; he had heard more than enough already. He was sick of this, sick of putting the blame for Izzy's and Idaho's death where it didn't belong.

"No, Creel did this. He killed you and Izzy and I'm going to make him pay for that!" Hunter declared resolutely, his jaw clenched tightly. "But I can't find him alone, so _first_ I'll have to get back to the base, only without _those_ guys following me," he finished, glancing in the direction of the street, where a car was just driving by at a suspiciously slow speed.

"General Talbot's people," Idaho noted with a small nod. "So I take it you don't plan on giving up Coulson after all?"

Hunter remained silent at the question at first, as he was busy looking around the parking lot for a car he could easily crack. When he had finally picked one – an older, cheap looking model – and started rummaging in his pockets for a lock pick, he replied in a decisive tone.

"Talbot doesn't care about catching Creel; Coulson does, so that's where I'll put my stock for now." His fingers were trembling ever so slightly as he began to work on the lock of the car door, but the concussion messing with his coordination didn't stand a chance against the mercenary's years of experience getting into places he wasn't supposed to.

Hunter shot Idaho a mischievous grin as he opened the car door, more than ready to get out of this place.

"But, hey, if that doesn't work out, there's still plenty of time to change my mind. Two million doesn't sound too bad anyway."

The Brit quickly dug inside the car now, where he hot-wired the ignition to start the engine. When he was ready to go, he wasn't at all surprised to find Idaho sitting in the passenger's seat beside him, watching him closely. He returned the other man's gaze with another grin, albeit one that didn't reach his eyes.

"Mind if I drive this time, you know, with you not being real and all?" Hunter asked, trying to keep himself from going insane the only way he knew how: by taking the situation with humour.

"Sure, go ahead," Idaho agreed and leaned back in his seat while crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Just… keep your eyes on the road, alright?"

Hunter wasn't quite sure if this was directed at the earlier incident, when he had almost steered his ride into oncoming traffic, or the fact that this had been Idaho's mistake, and the man adhering his own warning could have saved his and Izzy's lives. Not that it really mattered at this point.

"Alright, got it." The mercenary drove out of the parking lot and back into traffic, quickly taking a look around to see where his chaperons had gone to. Once he had made them out again, he shifted into a higher gear, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he glanced over at Idaho once more.

"Now let's show those guys how a proper driver gets out of a pinch like this."

"And here I thought you were going to drive," Idaho objected, earning himself an annoyed glare from Hunter.

"You know, even for a dead guy, you're risking quite the lip here," he replied before focusing back on the road ahead of him. He didn't even need to keep looking at Idaho to perfectly imagine the grin his friend was giving him right now.

They both remained silent for a while after this, while Hunter concentrated on getting rid of the cars following him, using every trick he knew on how to accomplish this. It wasn't so much a question of being faster than your pursuers, but of being completely unpredictable. Starting a car chase in the middle of a city could get you either into the news or dead – both options Hunter preferred to avoid. Instead it was driving like a complete moron, taking turns at the last second, getting into the wrong lanes at junctions, things like that, that actually gave him a pretty good chance at staying more than just a step ahead of everyone trying to follow him.

Talbot's people were good, though, if not at remaining hidden, than at least at staying on his tail; this one Hunter had to admit. It took him a lot longer than he would have liked until he finally couldn't spot anyone behind him anymore, who wasn't part of the city's usual traffic.

"You think they're all gone?" he asked Idaho, more out of habit than the actual belief that the dead guy he was imagining sitting next to him could possibly see anything he hadn't.

"Looks clear to me," the other man replied anyway, following Hunter's lead and taking a long look at the street behind them.

"Good. Now we'll just have to get another car, just to be safe, and then it's back to the base. Finally," the Brit finished with a sigh.

Moments later he drove onto the next parking lot he could find, not even caring what it belonged to, and got out of the car, eager to head back to the rest of the team. Hunter briefly wondered if all of them had made it out of the military base they had infiltrated earlier in one piece, but then he shook his head, knowing that there was no point in worrying about that now. He would know soon enough and right now he had other things to focus on.

Things like picking up a new car for the drive back for example, preferably a faster one this time.

The mercenary took a look around, trying to spot a vehicle that would fit the description. Before he could find anything, though, Idaho suddenly demanded his attention. He was looking over at a building across the street that Hunter had so far not been paying any attention to. A church.

"Hunter… could you…" Idaho began, but soon fell silent, a completely heartbroken expression on his face as he kept his eyes locked on the large building.

Hunter stood next to his friend for a moment, following his line of sight, until understanding slowly dawned on his features.

"Balance the karma," he uttered silently, referring to the ritual Idaho used to have whenever somebody on their side had died on a mission. A ritual he wouldn't be able to follow through this time around. "Sure, mate, I'll do it," Hunter immediately agreed without even having to hear the question.

He put his fixation on getting back to the SHIELD base as soon as possible aside for the moment, and crossed the street where he silently entered the church – a catholic one by the looks of it. He didn't want to draw any attention to himself in his current condition.

The atmosphere inside the building was gloomy, but also reverent, strangely soothing to Hunter's riled up mind. He could see someone sitting in one of the front rows towards the altar, but as he hadn't come here to attend a mess or even to pray, the British mercenary paid them no heed. Instead he headed over to what he had actually come here for: A metal rack standing to the side of the small antechamber that was lined with several rows of candles. Some of them were already burning, and he was going to add two more to them.

Two more lights for the friends he had lost today.

"Thank you for doing this," Idaho declared as he stepped next to Hunter now, having stayed behind him so far.

"You'd have done it for me. Least I could do," the Brit muttered back as he picked up one of the candles and the thin wooden stick obviously meant to use to light them. Once the candle was burning, Hunter remained motionless for another long moment, just holding it in his hand. He stared down at the soft flame, breathing in the wisps of smoke coming from the rack, deep in though.

"Listen, mate," he finally continued as he glanced over at Idaho, his voice breaking ever so slightly, "I know you're not really here, that this is just me suffering from one too many blows to the head. But it was… nice, I guess, seeing you again, talking to you." At this point Hunter put the candle back on the rack with the others before picking up a second one to light it as well. "I promise I'm going to get that bastard Creel. Whatever it takes. For you and for Izzy."

"Go after him, but don't do anything stupid, alright, Hunter?" It was a female voice that answered him this time, and the mercenary wasn't at all surprised to find Isabelle Hartley standing next to him now as well, on the opposite side from Idaho.

He gave her a lopsided grin before lighting the second candle in his hand, although the look in his eyes remained a perfect mirror of his heartbroken state. Hunter knew perfectly well that this would be the last time he would ever see his friends, let alone be able to talk to them. He figured there was no point in delaying the inevitable, however, and so he placed the candle back down, next to the one he had lit before, and turned around to leave the church. It was time to focus once more on the mission ahead of him.

"Sorry, but I'm not making any promises."

– The End –


End file.
